


Quarters

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [13]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking Games, M/M, race is such a cute drunk fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Race sucks at quarters, the cute boy across the table does not





	Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by "Backpedal" a slam poem by Olivia Gatwood, hope you guys enjoy!

Race and Spot first met, and got together, during a game of quarters. Which, as you may or may not know, is the beginning of all great love stories. 

And, as you may or may not know, quarters is a game where a person, usually drunk, flicks a quarter and attempts, usually unsuccessfully, to stop the coin on its edge. If you can’t, which Race usually couldn’t, you have to make a fist and place your knuckles flat on the table. 

Then your opponent flicks a quarter-and so the origins of the title-at your knuckles. And usually it hurts. A lot. 

And the drunker you got, the more you lost at quarters, and the more your knuckles bled. 

“Finally got one Higgins?”

Race whooped and slapped Jack’s hand, nearly tipping when he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“Fuck yeah, shot!”

And the  _ fun  _ part about quarters, was that if you won, you knocked back a shot of whatever the house was serving at the time. For Race it was doubles of vodka, and for a bad quarters player he somehow managed to get pretty damn drunk. 

But Race downed his shot and slammed the glass back down, a smirk sent across the table before he took his seat again. Truthfully, he didn’t like quarters all that much, but he was playing against a boy he’d never met before and his knuckles hurt a lot less when a cute boy shot at them. 

Not much less, but less enough to keep him playing and drinking and getting drunk. 

“Sure you wanna go again Race?” said cute boy from across the table, “You don’t gotta keep playing if you can’t handle it.”

God if he wasn’t gay, Not him _ self _ , well  _ he  _ was, but cute boy might not be and if that happened he’d probably die.

But cute boy was tilting his head expectantly. “I think I got one or two left in me Spotty.”

That was cute boy’s name, and was really fucking hot coming out of his mouth. Right before he flicked the quarter, Jack jostled him a bit and Race glanced up, still smiling goofily. “Yeah Kelly?”

A laugh from across the table and Jack sent someone a pointed look. “One more and I’m cutting your ass off.”

Race growled a little bit, because cute drunk boy was definitely not going to be back and him and Jack’s place, and started to argue. 

“Nope,” Jack said, “One more, sorry Conlon.”

His head felt way too heavy to try and argue again, and Race just nodded clumsily and turned to face a now slightly less cocky looking Spot. 

But he smiled at Race before drumming on the table for a few seconds while Jack ruffled his hair. God he loved college.

Flick. Wait for a few seconds for it to stop spinning. Accept that it wouldn’t stop spinning. And try and land it. Nine times out of ten, including now, fail. 

He groaned and put his hand down, looking like some crossover between Rocky and that drunk that passed out in the alley by their building sometimes. “Fine, be nice.”

“I’ll try,” Spot said and flicked the quarter. He was really good at that. It really hurt. He needed more vodka.

Cute boy and Jack both reached for the bottle before he could get to it though, and Race felt Jack’s hand on his collar pulling him back from the table. Blood dripped from his fingertips and Jack cursed loudly from behind him. More vodka would be great right now.

“Shit, I gotta clean this up, Mush’ll kill me-”

Cute boy had gone over to the other side of the table and grabbed Race’s uninjured hand; it felt way softer than he thought it would be, everything was right now actually. But Spot was saying something to Jack and starting toward the bathroom, and Race struggled to keep up without tripping over his feet. 

If he blacked out he’d kill the inventor of alcohol, cause he didn’t want to forget this.

* * *

 

God did this kid  _ suck  _ at quarters. 

Granted, it was hard to be good at quarters after a shot or two but he was starting to feel sort of bad. The kid didn’t look like he cared, he was smiling like an idiot, and truth be told the only reason he kept playing was that the second round the kid won one and gave Spot the cutest fucking smirk and he really wanted to see it again.

That’s where the kid being bad at quarters was really screwing him over. He really oughta make this next shot or else Spot’s have to call it because it just got cruel.

The clink of a coin against wood and Spot bit his lip, he looked so focused,  _ god.  _ And he actually landed it that time. “Finally got one Higgins?”

Race, that was the kids name, whooped and slapped Kelly’s hand from where he’d sidled up behind him. Jack Kelly. 98% sure he was dating that kid Davey from his Art History class, and so, not fucking Race. Good. 

He poured the double and slid it across the table to the kid, somehow he’d managed to forget to get drunk and still had some sense of impulse control. So he didn’t vault over the table and start to try anything.

That seemed like sort of asshole move anyway, and from what he could remember of his drunken makeouts and/or hookups, he  _ wasn’t  _ that much of an asshole when he was drunk anyway. Which was reassuring because he didn’t get a chance to ask if the kid was gay and he’d been down that road of denial and rejection before. Not fun.

“Fuck yeah, shot!”

Aw. Spot bite back a smile and watched the kid knock it back, he was going to be so hungover in the morning at this rate. And it looked like Jack knew it too.

“Sure you wanna go again Higgins? You don’t gotta keep playing if you can’t handle it.”

That could have sounded  _ less  _ breathy and gay, but it didn’t and Spot tilted his head to look Race in the eyes anyway.

“I think I got one or two left in me Spotty.”

Jack rolled his eyes from behind Race and shoved at him a little bit, at which Race sort of, struggled to turn his head-super hungover tomorrow-and looked at him. “Yeah Kelly?”

God that sounded strangely articulate for a drunken sophomore and Spot barked out a laugh, getting a pointed look from Kelly in return.

“One more and I’m cutting your ass off.”

Spot half wanted to argue and half was very aware that the kid’s knuckled looked awfully worse for wear. The kid didn’t really seem to care though and looked like he was about to say something before Jack cut him off again.

“Nope, one more, sorry Conlon,” Jack said, a slightly amused look sent Spot’s way and fuck Jack Kelly for getting involved in his shit. Not really, he was the one that introduced him to the kid in the first place, and also had been his friend for many years, but  _ still. _

And Race missed anyway, way too drunk to probably be able to see the thing anyway, and Spot felt suddenly glad that he wouldn’t have to keep flicking the quarter at him. 

Frowning a bit, Race put his hand down and looked over at Spot. “Fine, be nice.”

“I’ll try.” There was really no way to soften a quarter but he’d better try anyway. Didn’t look like he got that far from the look on Race’s face, and he started for the vodka just a second too late. Both him and Jack reached for the neck of the bottle, Spot getting a hold of it first while Jack dragged Race back by the collar. 

Would they be leaving? He really wanted to get the kid’s number, asking Jack wasn’t really an option; he was way too proud for that shit. But Kelly looked like he was struggling and he got over to the other side just in time for Jack to let out a pretty impressive string of curses when Race’s knuckles started bleeding onto the carpet.

“Shit, I gotta clean this up, Mush’ll kill me-”

He would, and Spot grabbed Race’s hand, which was rougher than he would have thought, and started for the bathroom. “I’ll clean him up man, you get the carpet.”

Jack nodded and went toward the kitchen, hopefully for some carpet cleaner, and Spot dragged Race over to the bathroom, careful to go slow enough to keep him from tripping. He really hoped they had gauze or something, because Spot was really good at quarters.

* * *

 

It was really bright in the bathroom and Race sat down on the toilet as soon as Spot let go of his hand. As soon as he was down he watched Spot digging through Mush’s cabinet, he looked just as cute from behind as from across a table.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, not really caring but he wanted to say something so that Spot would turn around. 

He did, and Race probably looked like an idiot because cute boy was really cute in  _ this  _ lighting too; a miracle. 

Spot rolled his eyes a little bit and kneeled in front of Race. “Lemme see your hand.”

If he was with Jack he might have made a blowjob joke but now probably wasn’t the time, because Spot had rubbing alcohol and he was  _ not  _ about to die. 

Words felt sort of funny in his mouth now so he just settled for shaking his head and trying to pull his hand away from Spot’s.

He failed and whined a little when Spot picked up a rag and poured a bit of the alcohol on it. “No fair, ‘m fine.”

He could have melted at the look Spot shot him before snorting. 

“You’re talking a premed student, don’t even try.”

God cute boy was smart too and Race started giggling despite himself and rested his head on top of Spot’s just as he started rubbing at his knuckles. It hurt a lot less than he thought it would, a mixture of liquor and infatuation and Spot was pulling away now.

“‘Kay, well you’re good as new, wrapped up and everything,” Spot said, and Race really didn’t want him to go.

He meant to get down with some sort of grace.

“Jesus Christ, Racer.”

Spot was actually laughing from where he ended up more or less pinned beneath Race and it sounded fucking adorable. “You’re so cute, fuck.”

The laughter stopped after that and Race wasn’t drunk enough to blame what he said 100% on alcohol, which would have been a really convenient excuse. Cute boy was looking up at Race and just as he shifted his weight to try and get up, cute boy grabbed his face and pulled him down to meet his own.

Cute boy definitely knew what the fuck he was doing, and  _ now  _ if he wasn’t gay, Race was definitely going to die. 

After a few seconds cute boy pulled back and grinned up at Race, who was whining and carding his fingers through Spot’s hair. “No.”

“No what?”

“Keep going,” Race said before leaning down and getting a mouthful of Spot’s hair instead of his lips. See, cute boy was quick too.

But Spot gently moved Race off his legs and sat up. “Not now, you’re drunk and probably delirious from blood loss, you really suck at quarters.”

He added that last part quickly and Race smiled a little bit, cute boy did have a point, his hand hurt still despite the vodka and infatuation. “Fine.”

The room spun a little when he started to stand and Spot had an arm over his shoulder before he fell back down. He hoped the hangover wouldn’t erase the memory that Spot was  _ strong _ as  _ fuck _ . 

And he really didn’t want to be passed off to Jack, which he was, and  _ really  _ didn’t want to pass out and forget all of this, which he was starting to, but Spot kissed him on the cheek and tossed him his phone before he got worked up about it.

“Text me tomorrow Higgins.”

Cute boy had added himself as a contact and Race started laughing, and kept laughing as Jack pulled him out of Mush’s house and toward their car. 

College was  _ awesome _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyy I'm trying to get back into writing consistently so hmu w some kudos and/or comments if you liked this!


End file.
